


Young Wings

by sir_kingsley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Relationship, developing destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_kingsley/pseuds/sir_kingsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been eight years since Dean's been in Lafayette, Indiana. Every street corner reminds of the best and worst time of his childhood. But an old friend may give him the homecoming of his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. So this is my first long form Destiel fanfic. I'm really excited to finally get it started. Some things you should know is that in this story the boys were older when Mary died. It will make sense in the coming chapters I think. I hope you enjoy it!

October

“Dean. Dean. Come on, Dean... Dean!”

Dean startled awake and frowned. “What Sammy?”

“We’re gonna be late,” Sam said, his big hazel eyes sparking with endless excitement. 

“For what?” Dean grumbled as he turned his face back into his pillow.

“School!” Sam nudged his brother’s arm. “Come on, Dean. It’s our first day. I don’t wanna be late. Please.”

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes inwardly. “Fine…” He stole a few more seconds of comfort, body relaxed and warm, mind foggy. Then, feeling Sam’s gaze burning into his skin, he struggled into a sitting position. “If you keep acting like this big a nerd you’re gonna get beaten up.”

Sam grinned. “No I won’t. You’d kill ‘em.” And with that confidence, Sam scurried to his own room to finish getting ready.

Dean groaned as he got to his feet. He held his arms over his head, stretched his back and padded toward the bathroom, dodging and tripping over boxes in his path.

This new house was small. Small, but nice enough. As long as he didn’t have to worry about rodents crawling under Sammy’s covers at night, Dean could deal with some creaky floorboards and chipping paint.

But it was nothing compared to the house they’d had the last time they’d lived in Lafayette, Indiana. That had been nice. That had been a home.

Dean grunted and shook his head. There was no need opening that box of memories. If he went digging through it now he’d spend the rest of the day locked inside. And he didn’t need that. Sammy didn’t need that. It was going to be hard enough as it was.

Though most of his belongings were still in boxes and bags, Dean was dressed and ready to go in twenty minutes. 

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table when he got downstairs. It was littered with old tools and the telling remains of a six-pack. Dean scrunched his nose and scooped up the empty bottles, making room for Sam to eat his breakfast in peace.

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked in a soft tone.

“Not sure,” Dean lied as he transferred the leftover eggs Sam had made to a plate.

Truth was, the old man had bailed out around 8:00 last night and hadn’t come home. Probably picking himself off some dirty bar floor, Dean thought to himself bitterly.

“Oh,” was all Sam said.

Dean watched his little brother bring a forkful of eggs to his mouth slowly. He chewed absently, the smile in his eyes fading as concern for their father grew.

“Actually, you know what, he had to go to work early.”

“Really?”

“ Yeah, Bobby called around 6 or something, said they needed his help. He told me to tell you good luck.”

Sam beamed and finished his breakfast in three huge bites. “I’m ready,” he said with a full mouth, slinging his backpack over his scrawny shoulder.

Dean couldn’t help smirking. He put his plate in the sink, grabbed his bag and the car keys.

He let Sammy pick the music on the ride to school and listed to his little brother sing along to Zeppelin. It never failed to put a smile on his face… even as the scenery they passed made his fists clench.

The old man had to be crazy bringing them back here. How could he think this was a good idea? All the bad memories…

“Dean!”

Dean jerked his head in his brother’s direction. “What?” he asked a frustrated-looking Sam.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Yeah. I’m fine.”

Sam watched him for a long moment before looking out the window again. “Hard to believe we used to live here. I can’t remember anything.”

Dean’s eyes widened a fraction. Sammy had an almost supernatural talent for guessing what someone was thinking.

“Well, you would have only been about five or so. Not surprising you wouldn’t remember anything.”

Sam hummed. “What do you remember? Did you like it here?”

Dean shrugged. “It was okay. I mean, it was… normal. Longest we ever stayed in one place, that’s for sure.”

“Did you have any friends?”

“Friends?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Friends. People you hang around a lot, talk to, actually like. Or were you this antisocial and intolerable when you were nine too?”

Dean gave his brother an amused glare. “Hey! I’m not antisocial and intolerable. And I had friends. There was this one kid, Cal or Cam or something, who I used to hang out with a lot.” 

Dean half-smiled to himself. He didn’t remember much about the kid, just a pair of bright blue eyes. But whenever he thought about those eyes he was comforted by a sense of happiness. 

“Do you think you’ll see him?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe. People move around a lot. I mean, look at us.”

They reached the school in just a few more minutes. Jefferson High School was a simple tall brick building. Right across the street where busses were unloading children was the middle school where Sam would be heading.

The brothers climbed out the Impala and stared at the two building, a prison to one and a sanctuary to the other.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Sam chirped.

Dean ruffled his hair as Sam began to walk away. “Good luck, Sammy,” he called.

“It’s Sam,” Sam hissed with a smile he couldn’t conceal.

Dean waded through the crowds of students, bumping into as few as possible and shooting dirty looks at the ones who didn’t move on time. He fought his way to the front office where he received his class schedule and student ID card.

From there he went to get his text books and journeyed to find his locker where he stashed all of them. Then he was off to calculus.

He was late the teacher, Mr. Turner, didn’t make too big a deal about it. He gave Dean a seat near the back and carried on with the lesson.

It was a good thing Dean was actually decent at math or he would have been totally lost. He didn’t take notes, just listened as they worked through the practice equations. 

At the end of the class Mr. Turner gave Dean some materials to help him catch up. Dean smiled and took the papers, tossed them in a trashcan when he got down the hall. He wouldn’t use them.

Dean got through his next class in about the same way, just listening to the teacher talk, ignoring the curious looks students tossed his direction.

When Dean reached his third class he was feeling more comfortable in his new environment. He strutted into world history and met the hard gaze of a lovely middle-aged woman. 

Her eyes watched his closely as Dean neared her desk. “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester. I’m just-“

“Winchester?” the woman interrupted. “Are you John Winchester’s boy?”

Dean frowned. “Ugh, yeah. You know my dad?”

The woman snorted. “Know him? Used to have to drive his raggedy ass home every Saturday after poker games with my husband.” She stood and as she stepped toward Dean her face softened into an adoring smile. “Ellen Harvelle,” she said, offering her hand.

Dean shook it.

“My, my, my, you grew up pretty.” Her eyes swept up and down his face, making Dean fidget. “Look just like your-”

The bell rang. Her face hardened again as the last few students tiptoed into the classroom. “Well, Mr. Winchester, you came just in time,” she said and walked to the front of the class.

“Quiet down,” she ordered and the students obeyed instantly. “Class, this is Dean Winchester. He just transferred here and he’s going to need a partner for the semester project. There should be one group of three in here so one of you will volunteer to be Dean’s partner.”

“Why can’t he just join a group?” a thick southern accent asked.

“Because I said I wanted groups of two, Mr. Lafitte.”

Dean pursed his lips as the heavy gaze of the class bore down on him. The boys were frowning at him but he noticed the appreciative glances of a few girls. He caught the eye of a pretty redhead and winked. She smirked and ducked her head.

“I’ll be his partner,” called a gravelly voice.


End file.
